


Synopsis: Stone of Scone

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Meta, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-31
Updated: 2003-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:09:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Synopsis: Stone of Scone

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

Stone of Scone

**STONE OF SCONE**

Paul Gallico is reputed to have said, 'If there is larceny in a man, golf will bring it out.' He must have known Hugh Fitzcairn. 

This episode is presented as a comedic Highlander fable. No present day action-it all takes place in 1720 and 1950. A small note…this failed attempt at blowing up King George is the incident that Fitzcairn later alludes to in 'To Be,' where Fitz (as Mac's guide) thanks him for allowing him those '280 years of life'. 

In his 400 or so years, Duncan has faced and overcome risks, but this challenge was one of his hardest-dealing with Fitz AND Amanda! Outwitting Kalas was child's play compared to the messes these two 'friends' get him into. 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~ 

Here is a true update to the Highlander fictional version. 

'November 15, 1996   
From Correspondent Richard Blystone   
LONDON (CNN) - The British government gave Scotland a precious stone Friday - and it's about time, say Scots, since it was stolen from them seven centuries ago. 

The Stone of Scone (pronounced skoon) left Scotland in shame in the hands of an English conqueror. 

It returned in triumph to the winsome tunes of bagpipes, though it was guarded closely in a closed Land Rover over the bridge at Coldstream. That's where King Edward I carried off the "stone of destiny" in 1296. 

The stone, for centuries a coronation seat of Scottish kings, spent recent memory surrounded by other special stones, at London's Westminster Abbey. 

The rock was fitted beneath the seat of a regal wooden chair, and it has been part of every British coronation since it was stolen, including that of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953.' 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~ 

Do you suppose the Brits felt guilty after watching this Highlander episode and decided to 'do the right thing?' H-m-m-m????? 

By the way, the term 'mulligan' in golf means a freebie, or do-over. It's a delete button. Declaring bankruptcy is an example of a non-golf mulligan. We've all wished for, or taken mulligans in our lives. Don't be too hard on Fitz. 

_New Characters:_

**BERNIE CRIMMINS** \- Immortal 18th century pig who was King George's official executioner (chopping heads for a living, perfectly suited for the job). He is, in 1950-a lord of the realm-but still a pig at heart. 

**ANDREW** \- in 1950, Amanda's golf caddy. 

* * *

A book bound in leather,   
Its pages record,   
A Highlander fable,   
Tales of the sword,   
Love and betrayal,   
Greed and…Alas!   
An Immortal is even-   
Shot in the ass! 

England, 1720   
Westminster Abbey   
Somewhere its Bowels 

Fitzcairn and another,   
Move gunpowder kegs.   
'This cart is heavy,'   
His accessory begs.   
'Stop whining,' growls Fitz,   
'It's what you're paid for.'   
As a trail of black powder-   
They lay on the floor. 

Elsewhere in the Abbey's Bowels 

Duncan is counting,   
'Sixty paces-we ought-   
To dig right through here.'   
'What if we get caught?'   
To his helper, he says-   
'You're paid well enough.   
Now do as you're told.   
Dig! Do your stuff!' 

Fitz feels MacLeod,   
MacLeod senses Fitz,   
Another Immortal!   
This is really the pits!   
Each turns to his helper,   
Not telling him squat,   
Just, 'I'll deal with this…'   
'You'll deal with WHAT?' 

Down the dark tunnels,   
On soft silent feet,   
Each Immie creeps slowly-   
Till the passageways meet.   
They leap out, swords drawn-   
'YOU!' they both cry,   
Each giving the other-   
A glowering eye. 

They ask the old question-   
_'What are you doing here?'_   
Mac thinks of Fitzcairn-   
As a pain in his rear.   
But he answers, 'I'm here-   
For the Scots' Stone of Scone.   
To retrieve it for Scotland,   
And replace it, right soon.' 

Meanwhile the two helpers-   
Hear something's brewing.   
Both stop, terrified,   
They drop what they're doing.   
One drops the keg,   
The other-his tools,   
They scramble away,   
(That's gunpowder, fools). 

Fitz now discloses-   
A plan all his own.   
To topple King George-   
From the English throne.   
'I'll blow up the Abbey,   
Bring it down 'round his ears.'   
'Not till I have the Stone-   
That Scotland reveres.' 

'If you steal the Stone,   
They'll seal this place tight!'   
Fitzcairn, it's the Stone-   
That's important, all right?'   
'To who?' 'To the people-   
Of Scotland,' storms Mac.   
Fitz: 'What of the people-   
Of England?' firing back 

'They're thieving bastards,   
Let them go to Hell!'   
Mac says it twice,   
'Case Fitz didn't hear well.   
Oh, did I forget to-   
Mention this item?   
Both Immies have torches-   
In the tunnels, they light 'em. 

Now Fitz, in a dumb-   
Quick-tempered slip-   
Knocks MacLeod's torch-   
From the Highlander's grip.   
The gunpowder trails-   
To the keg that lies broken-   
To the cart full of kegs….   
Only two words are spoken. 

From Fitz, they're-'Uh! Oh!'   
Mac, 'What do you mean?'   
'RUN!' yells Fitzcairn,   
As he bolts from the scene.   
Mac sneaks a peek,   
Then his butt, quickly hauls-   
Doesn't relish being plastered-   
Over Westminster's halls. 

EXPLOSION!! Very loud!   
To the ears, an assault.   
Soon after, both Immies-   
Yelling, 'It was your fault!'   
Screams Mac, 'You did not-   
Even blow up the Abbey!   
Not enough powder,   
As a plan, it was shabby.' 

'Nincompoop!' MacLeod charges,   
Fitzcairn knocks Mac down.   
Mac's wig has gone flying,   
Now his face wears a frown.   
'That's it!' Mac declares   
Neither Immie will yield,   
They'll decide it like warriors,   
On the battlefield! 

Says Fitz, 'If I lose,   
I'll help steal the Stone…   
If _you_ lose, you'll help-   
This Abbey get blown.'   
'Done!' says MacLeod,   
'The battlefield at dawn,'   
But soldiers are coming-   
So, they'd better be gone. 

The Battlefield at Dawn   
Sedgewick Field, England 

Each stares down the other,   
Promising a fate drear.   
They show off their weapons,   
Hoping to inspire fear.   
Fitz strokes his club-   
'The finest English briar,'   
Duncan's is larger-   
'A club to admire!' 

A local bovine-   
Watches and moos,   
As the two stalwart warriors-   
Eventually choose-   
Fitz will go first,   
Driving into the rough.   
Combat by golf,   
Is manly and tough. 

Sneers MacLeod, 'Nicely done!   
New English strategy?'   
Then he steps up-   
Puts his ball on the tee.   
'Mind the cow!' MacLeod glares,   
In the midst of his swing,   
Fitz coughs, Duncan fluffs-   
Sends his ball wandering. 

'Och! Damn you, Fitzcairn!'   
Wily Fitz is a trip.   
He tells Mac, 'What's wrong-   
With you…is your grip!'   
'Nothing wrong with my grip!'   
Grabbing Fitz by the throat,   
Then wipes off his hand-   
On Fitzcairn's fine coat. 

The Battlefield, 1950   
The Royal Sedgewick Golf Course 

Fitzcairn reminisces,   
'Just like the old days,'   
Mac doesn't relish-   
Unpleasant replays.   
Fitz lands his shot-   
In the rough, as is usual.   
'A crosswind,' he notes,   
That makes it excusable. 

'I'll just take my mulligan,'   
'No mulligans, darling.'   
It's the lovely Amanda,   
Buoyant as a starling,   
'No mulligans??' snaps Fitz,   
In a vexed fit of pique,   
Andrew says, 'It's not proper,   
They're reserved for the weak.' 

'Only children and women-   
Take mulligans, sir.'   
Fitz appeals to MacLeod,   
' But I gave odds to her.'   
'I needed the money,'   
She wants Mac to know.   
Mac to Fitz, 'You're an idiot,'   
(This should be a good show.) 

Fitz tries to distract her,   
'You should change your grip.'   
But she swings like a pro,   
Straight from the hip,   
The ball's lie is perfect.   
Fitzcairn, a mite cowed,   
Seething, 'She's done this-   
Before,' to MacLeod. 

MacLeod knows Amanda-   
Like no one else does.   
'She's done EVERYTHING-   
Before. Your bet was…?'   
'A few thousand pounds…   
How good is she?'   
MacLeod only giggles,   
(How much fun this will be!) 

Later 

The game has progressed-   
Where bushes arise.   
Fitzcairn, Mac, Amanda-   
Search for their lies.   
Mac's ball's in the clear,   
Easy shot and he makes it.   
Fitzcairn can't find his,   
So…he just fakes it. 

Fitz tosses a spare-   
Ball from his pocket.   
But Andy comes up-   
Saying, quick as a rocket-   
'There's your ball, sir-   
Wedged in the shrubbery.'   
Fitz tries to bluff,   
Without getting blubbery. 

Slick Amanda sees through him,   
'You miserable cheat!'   
Now Fitz really blubbers,   
Convinced of defeat.   
To Amanda, he whispers-   
'I'll forfeit the game,   
Take the money…but don't-   
Tell MacLeod of my shame.' 

'Tell me WHAT?' Mac demands,   
'Fitz is playing us for fools,   
She shows the two balls,   
'He's breaking the rules,'   
'You CHEATED?!' yells Mac,   
Fitz: 'A simple mistake,   
Anyone could have made it.'   
Anger now makes Mac shake. 

'I've seen you cheat-   
At cards and with women,   
But cheating at GOLF?'   
With outrage, Mac's brimmin,'   
What kind of a man-   
Do you claim to be?   
Cheating at golf-   
Is the worst treachery!' 

'But the lie was impossible!'   
Fitz protests primly,   
'Haven't cheated for centuries,'   
Mac stops…then turns grimly,   
'Which century, Fitz?'   
'Long ago…' his voice trembling,   
'So long, even I-   
Have trouble remembering.' 

Sedgewick Field, England, 1720 

Duncan's elated!   
Singing, 'Two strokes ahead,'   
'You'll soon swing a pick…'   
Unaware Fitz did tread-   
Duncan's ball in the mud,   
Then Fitz tossed his own-   
Out of the brush-   
To a clear open zone. 

'How'd it get buried…   
Like that?' MacLeod's question.   
'Take a penalty stroke,'   
Is Fitzcairn's suggestion,   
'Penalty, my ass!'   
Mac solidly swings…   
The ball strikes a tree,   
Then off his back pings. 

Fitz verbally rubs-   
MacLeod's wound with salt,   
'I keep telling you-   
Your grip is at fault,'   
MacLeod fueled by rage-   
Flings down his wig!   
Scotland's precious Stone-   
Lost in golf-to this prig! 

The Royal Sedgewick Golf Course, 1950 

Mac grabs Fitz, demanding,   
'Did you cheat that day-   
In 1720?'   
'I'd no other way-   
To get you to help me-   
At stake was a nation!'   
Mac clutches him fiercely,   
Steamed with frustration. 

'Because of your base-   
Deceit, arrogance-   
The Stone wasn't returned,   
Scotland lost its chance!   
Then the bloody Crown Jewels-   
That was your thought alone,'   
'Crown Jewels?' pipes Amanda,   
'We could've had the _Stone._ ' 

Sedgewick Field, England, 1720 

'Well, MacLeod,' says Fitzcairn-   
'You had rotten luck,   
But you _did_ play with honor.'   
(Mac knows he is stuck)   
'And an honorable man-   
Always stands by his word.   
The Abbey blows tonight!'   
'Tonight? That's absurd!' 

'Fitzcairn, are you out-   
Of your tiny little mind?   
After last night-   
They'll be waiting, inclined-   
To give us the treatment-   
They gave to Guy Fawkes…   
Hung, drawn, and quartered!'   
'Oh.' Fitzcairn gawks. 

'We Catholics have waited-   
Since Cromwell,' says Fitz-   
To ensure, the true king-   
On the English throne sits.'   
Mac replies, 'Blow the Abbey,   
You blow up the Stone,   
The Scots won't support you,   
And you'll fail on your own.' 

Fitz: 'How can we rally-   
The Scottish support?'   
'You'd need the Crown Jewels,   
Laughs Mac, making sport.'   
'The man is a genius!'   
Fitzcairn yelps with glee,   
To Fitz, MacLeod's jest-   
Has validity. 

'The Tower of London?   
Only madmen would try it.'   
But Fitz qualifies-   
Mac cannot deny it,   
With a lunatic's laugh-   
Fitz goes on his way,   
Concocting his plans-   
For that marvelous day. 

Dirty Dick's Tavern, London 

The scum of the city-   
Dines at Dirty Dick's   
And the scummiest of all-   
Now greasily licks-   
His fingers, while erupting-   
In a fluid-like sound.   
From his gut, either end-   
Gaseous noises abound. 

The tavern is gloomy,   
Mac asks, 'Who's this man?   
How do you know-   
He has the Tower's plan?'   
Says Fitzcairn, 'He works there,   
Executions, he does,   
His name's Bernie Crimmins'   
Then both sense the Buzz. 

'That tiny English mind-   
Thought of Crimmins…the fence?   
He'd sell his own mother-   
For less than two pence.'   
'He hasn't a mother-   
He's one of our kind,'   
Mac sighs, 'This gets better-   
Each minute, I find.' 

The floor plan is there-   
Near Bernie's greased paws.   
They haggle over price,   
All the while, Bernie gnaws.   
The price has gone up.   
Fitzcairn now is short.   
MacLeod wants to leave-   
But Fitz won't abort. 

With deft, nimble fingers-   
Fitz lifts MacLeod's purse.   
(Both he and Amanda-   
Share talents, perverse).   
Two hundred guineas,   
That Crimmins now nabs-   
Simultaneously-   
The floor plan, Mac grabs. 

The Tower of London   
Three A.M. 

They slide down a rope,   
Fitz plops to the floor.   
After they get untangled-   
They find the right door,   
Behind it, they know-   
Reside the Crown Jewels.   
But there's a small problem-   
Neither one has the tools! 

Says Mac, 'I'll go get them,   
Too long, you will be.'   
While he's gone Fitz inserts-   
His sword, carefully-   
Into the lock,   
The door opens wide.   
'Stupid Scot!' mutters Fitz,   
Stepping quickly inside. 

A Little Later 

MacLeod calls 'Fitzcairn!'   
Wonders where Fitz has flown.   
'Idiot…he cannot-   
Be trusted alone.'   
'Over here, MacLeod,'   
Poor Fitz is downcast   
Held firmly at sword point-   
Despite his bombast.. 

'He surprised me…It wasn't-   
My fault,' explains Fitz.   
Two more guards appear.   
'You'd best call it quits,'   
Mac pretends to relinquish-   
His beloved Claymore,   
Then head-butts a guard-   
Before he can say more. 

The other guard fires-   
Shooting Fitz in the butt,   
With his arms chained behind,   
Fitz hops like a nut,   
Bouncing and screaming-   
While Mac fends off three,   
'Show no mercy!' yells Fitz-   
Very adamantly. 

Mac has his hands full,   
These three won't give up,   
'I blame _you_ for this!'   
Fitz whines like a pup,   
'This is your fault!'   
Duncan gasping and raging,   
Back and forth through the hall,   
They continue engaging. 

Finally MacLeod-   
Has them all neutralized,   
They groan on the floor,   
Like meat, tenderized,   
'I could have done that!'   
Says Fitzcairn, the brave.   
MacLeod must hold back-   
From throttling this knave. 

Other guards now approach,   
'Cut my chains!' 'Run, instead!'   
'Without the crown jewels?'   
'Either them or your head!   
We've just committed-   
A treasonable act,   
If we're caught, your friend Crimmins-   
Will behead us-hard fact.' 

The Royal Sedgewick Golf Course, 1950 

Mac shoves Fitz away,   
'And I trusted you!'   
'I'm sorry, MacLeod,   
We're friends, good and true,'   
'We were,' snarls MacLeod,   
As he stomps away mad,   
Leaving Amanda-   
To think…and that's bad.. 

Her arm's around Andrew,   
'Andy…you're a Scot,   
This Stone of Scone-   
What worth has it got?'   
'It's priceless, miss,'   
'Aren't the Crown Jewels as nice?'   
'They're just bits o' diamond,   
The Stone's beyond price.' 

Associated British-Pathe Limited   
Pathe News Broadcast   
'Christmas Stocking' 

The crowing cock symbol-   
Proclaims the good news.   
Christmas in Britain,   
Shoppers in queues.   
Amanda's face softens-   
At the crystalline stone,   
There for the taking-   
For her very own. 

The Clermont Club, Formerly Dirty Dick's 

Amanda has entered,   
Not heeding the rules,   
'Members only,' she's told,   
But rules are for fools,   
'Mr. Crimmins, she says,   
Presenting her card,   
She'll appeal to his greed,   
This shouldn't be hard. 

' _Lord_ Crimmins will see you,'   
None other than Bernie,   
From 1720-   
He's made quite a journey,   
His hair's neatly combed,   
Not in filthy tangles,   
Impeccably dressed,   
But he still knows the angles. 

She: 'You BOUGHT a title?'   
He: 'A grave misimpression.   
Some unfortunate photos-   
Were in my possession.   
I was happy to help-   
Keeping scandal from royalty,   
They appreciate one-   
Who demonstrates loyalty.' 

'And what brings Amanda-   
To see me perchance?'   
'I've a deal lined up, Bernie-   
But I need an advance.'   
' _LORD_ Crimmins…How much?'   
'Fifty thousand.' 'A pity-   
Sorry, can't do it-   
The art market's shitty.' 

'This isn't art,'   
(In her low sultry tone),   
'It's the score of the century-   
A fabulous stone!   
It's priceless,' she breathes,   
Ever the flirt,   
It makes the Crown Jewels   
Look'…purring… 'like dirt!' 

They haggle a bit,   
Crimmins hasn't forgotten-   
Her luck, recently-   
At gambling's been rotten.   
She owes to some nasties-   
A great deal of money.   
'They're going to break-   
Your lovely legs, honey.' 

The terms are agreed,   
They'll split 60-40,   
She's elated till Bernie-   
Threatens, spoil-sporty,   
'If you renege-   
I shall cut your heart out,   
Then take your head.'   
He's an eloquent lout. 

A Hotel Room 

MacLeod lies in bed,   
Still mostly dressed-   
While Amanda works diligently-   
Nuzzling his chest,   
He's preoccupied-   
With a hole in his sock,   
Amanda might well-   
Be kissing a rock. 

'The man has no honor!   
No honor at all!'   
(Still contemplating-   
Fitzcairn's 'second ball')   
'If the Stone's so important,'   
Coos Amanda, 'Let's get it.'   
'Steal it?' He pauses,   
'Nah, we'd regret it.' 

'My talent, your muscles,   
Locks are my specialty,   
I'm sure we can do it,   
Very successfully,'   
'Why,' asks MacLeod-   
Distrusting her wiles,   
'Would you want the Stone back?'   
'To be kind,' and she smiles. 

Says Mac, 'Over 200-   
Years, I have dreamt it,   
But no one is crazy-   
Enough to attempt it.'   
Just then a knock…   
Fitzcairn at the door,   
'MacLeod, you in there?'   
Too drunk to ignore. 

'No! No!' Mac yells, _'Don't!'_   
But Amanda is quicker,   
In staggers Fitz-   
Reeking of liquor,   
He flops on MacLeod,   
'My friend, can't you see…   
I'm dying of guilt?   
It hangs over me!' 

His breath's overpowering,   
MacLeod shoves him off,   
He dare not inhale-   
The fumes make him cough,   
He heaves Fitzcairn over-   
But Fitz climbs right back.   
Begging and slobbering,   
'Forgive me, please, Mac.' 

'You're forgiven,' Mac croaks-   
In pure self-defense,   
Anything's better than-   
Breathing that dense-   
Foul exhalation…   
But now, what is this?   
Fitz in his gratitude-   
Gives Mac a wet kiss. 

'You won't be sorry,'   
Slurs Fitz feeling snoozy.   
'I already am,'   
Liquor fumes made Mac woozy,   
Amanda sits smoking,   
Now convinced she'll succeed.   
With the aid of these two-   
She'll be wealthy, indeed. 

Christmas Eve in London   
Westminster Abbey 

In evening regalia-   
Fitzcairn, perpetrator-   
Is 'dressed for the occasion,'   
'I've a party much later,'   
But with his stout pole,   
He's ready to rumble,   
'But nobody works-   
On Christmas,' his grumble. 

'Christmas is often-   
A good time to score,'   
Says Amanda as she-   
Picks the lock on the door.   
'Now for Stage Two,'   
Mac and Fitzcairn must hide,   
While she finds a guard-   
To share Christmastide. 

The guard hears her warbling,   
Says, 'You can't be here,'   
She tipsily offers-   
From her flask, Christmas cheer,   
'To the soul of my mother.'   
The guard is a trouper,   
Takes a sip for the lady-   
And falls in a stupor. 

When Mac finds the room-   
He is awed by the sight,   
'There it is,' he exclaims-   
From the balcony's height.   
Amanda's perplexed,   
Her question is 'Where?'   
Fitzcairn knows the answer,   
Saying simply, 'The chair.' 

It's red velvet cushioned,   
Atop a large rock,   
Amanda can't wait-   
For her skills to unlock-   
The glory within…   
The jewel that's inside,   
'Someone's coming,' she whispers,   
'Quick, you must hide.' 

Through a side door they go-   
The same place she stashed-   
The guard, who's in dreamland-   
He's thoroughly smashed.   
She then locks them in,   
When Fitz wonders why…   
Mac grumbles, 'She must-   
Have partners, nearby.' 

'This makes no sense,   
She can't use the Stone!'   
'She's Amanda!' says Mac,   
That statement alone-   
Explains her behavior,   
'Never fear, back she'll pop,'   
So the three settle down,   
Mac, Fitz and drugged cop. 

And Amanda? She's feverishly-   
Attacking the chair,   
Destroying the fabric,   
Downy feathers everywhere,   
'Where is it?' she screams   
Till she's forced to desist,   
Weak with exhaustion,   
'Bernie's gonna be pissed.' 

She unlocks Mac and Fitz,   
Still in feathers bedecked.   
'Plucking your turkey?'   
Asks Fitz, for effect,   
She: 'Help me find it,'   
Laughs Mac, 'It's right there,'   
The Stone of Scone is-   
Right under the chair.' 

To Amanda it is-   
Only a 'stupid rock.'   
Mac explains the old legend-   
That goes with this block.   
'When he dreamed of Heaven-   
It cushioned Jacob's head,   
He who sits on it will-   
Rule Scotland, it's said.' 

'The English purloined it,   
Now we'll take it back,'   
With the pole through two rings-   
Between Fitz and Mac,   
They maneuver the Stone-   
Cautiously, to the car,   
Mac lifts his end higher-   
Than Fitz's, by far. 

Amanda tells Mac,   
Of her double dealing,   
'You owe Bernie Crimmins?'   
'I thought we were stealing-   
A diamond, gigantic-   
'No one said it was!'   
'No one said it wasn't!'   
Sirens! The fuzz! 

Associated British-Pathe Limited   
Pathe News Broadcast   
'The Coronation Stone Mystery' 

'The silence of Christmas-   
In Westminster Abbey-   
Was shattered by sirens-   
When a theft, foul and shabby-   
Was committed by persons-   
Who will be caught soon,   
The theft of a relic-   
The beloved Stone of Scone.' 

'The thieves carved initials,   
J.F.S. when they left,   
Justice for Scotland,   
We're dishonored by this theft-   
Of the Stone upon which-   
Scottish kings would be crowned   
If you scoundrels are listening,   
You…will… be… found!' 

Boxing Day   
Somewhere in England 

The newspaper sketch-   
Of Amanda's not pretty-   
Enough for her liking.   
Mac says, 'It's a pity.   
But if it's not lifelike-   
Then you're in the clear,   
Still… they have my license-   
Plate number.' 'Oh, dear!' 

Duncan's good buddies-   
Decide to desert him.   
Amanda tells Fitz-   
Sea air wouldn't hurt him.   
They're off to Algiers,   
For an extended journey.   
That way Amanda-   
Won't have to face Bernie. 

On the way out,   
Fitz cannot resist-   
Educating a waitress,   
In what she has missed,   
Unnoticed in a corner,   
Bernie's butler at ease,   
To himself says, 'Amanda!   
Well, well. Quelle surprise.' 

Later 

Her dreams of Algiers-   
She is forced to discard.   
Bags packed, she's arrested-   
Taken to Scotland Yard,   
Treason's the charge,   
The penalty's high,   
'I was out caroling!'   
Is her alibi. 

'We will go easy-   
On you, Miss…this time,   
An innocent girl-   
Seduced into crime.   
Just tell us who-   
Led you astray…   
Or in prison you'll sit-   
Till you're old and gray.' 

'You'd be surprised,'   
She says with a chortle,   
A knock on the door-   
The Buzz! An _Immortal!_   
'Duncan,' she smiles-   
With his name on her tongue,   
When the inspector says-   
'It appears you've been sprung.' 

She runs to embrace him,   
But it's Bernie, that goat!   
Suggestively cutting-   
A line 'cross his throat,   
Slam!…goes the door,   
Amanda will deal.   
'I've changed my mind.'   
She's decided to squeal. 

Fitzcairn's Bedroom 

Fitz has inveigled-   
That waitress to bed,   
In the midst of their romp-   
Scotland Yard rears its head.   
'You've got the wrong man…   
I'm not even Scottish,   
Could you wait a half hour?'   
(He's still a bit hottish). 

Pathe News Broadcast 

In the search for the Stone-   
Of Destiny, we see-   
Two suspects arrested,   
One villain's still free.   
The dragnet's extended,   
There'll be no abating,   
Some Scots, for home rule-   
Are now agitating. 

Scotland, Near Edinburgh 

Mac happily chisels-   
A similar stone-   
Sculpting a 'Stone of-   
Scone' of his own.   
The duplicate's perfect-   
But when he moves it-   
He cracks it in half-   
Which scarcely improves it. 

Scotland Yard Prison 

Fitz and Amanda-   
In cells side by side.   
Fitz calls her 'Miss Judas,'   
Insulting her pride,   
'Crimmins was waiting-   
To cut off my head.   
My only choice was-   
Rat you out, instead.' 

Not much they can do,   
So they kill some time-   
Betting if they-   
Will hang for this crime.   
'But you have no money,'   
Observes the shrewd Fitz   
'I'll give you my marker,'   
She never quits. 

Pathe News Broadcast 

In London, the crowds-   
Won't leave, they refuse-   
At 10 Downing Street,   
They're waiting for news,   
The Stone of Scone still-   
Has not been recovered.   
They pray that its whereabouts-   
Will be discovered. 

Inside 10 Downing Street   
Prime Minister Churchill's Office 

Winston Churchill has faith-   
In Duncan MacLeod,   
The Highlander's plan-   
Will do them both proud.   
'Tell the press it was only-   
A silly school antic.   
You don't want the Scots-   
Becoming more frantic.' 

'Release the two culprits,   
And don't be concerned.   
The Stone, I assure you-   
Will soon be returned.'   
'It is best for England-   
That this matter cease.'   
'Exactly. You'll have it-   
Though not in one piece.' 

'How…? Never mind,   
There will be no questions.   
You're a good man, MacLeod,   
I will take your suggestions.'   
The next news broadcast-   
Showed the bipartite treasure-   
Anonymously returned-   
To joy without measure. 

Outside Scotland Yard Jail 

Thanks to Mac, they've been sprung,   
And the crooks are delighted.   
But what's in his hand-   
Makes them more excited.   
'Reward money given-   
For finding the Stone,'   
Amanda, of course-   
Claims it as her own. 

Mac to Fitz: 'It is mine!'   
He asserts with finesse,   
'It was your cheating-   
That caused all this mess,'   
'Did I hear you correctly?'   
Chants Mac, 'Cheat, cheat, _cheat!_ '   
Fitz demands satisfaction,   
At dawn, they will meet. 

'Dawn it is,' says MacLeod,   
Than gathers his wits-   
'Fitzcairn…No mulligans!'   
Fair play will kill Fitz.   
They are all satisfied,   
Fitz regained his panache,   
MacLeod has the Stone,   
And Amanda-the cash! 

Royal Highlands Golf Club, Scotland   
Dawn 

Amanda teed off,   
(A very nice shot)   
Looks back...looks again-   
Than stares at the spot-   
Where behind her, two women-   
Chat, willy-nillyish,   
One on a stone seat-   
That's very familiarish. 

'MacLeod! How did you….?'   
Mac shushes her still.   
Fitzcairn makes his shot,   
With unusual skill.   
Not so, MacLeod!   
His shot's a mere chip,   
Chides Fitz, 'I keep telling you-   
Man-it's your grip!' 

As Fitz and Amanda-   
Head toward the next hole,   
She asks, 'Is it true-'   
As forward, they stroll,   
'Who sits on the Stone-   
Is Scotland's true ruler?'   
'So they say,' replies Fitz,   
'Ask any grade schooler.' 

From the plain little matron-   
'Good place for a seat,   
Hard on the bottom-   
But has the grass beat,'   
Thus endeth this fable-   
Of Highlander lore,   
Believe it, or not-   
That's what fables are for! 

Peace, Emit   
© 2002 

**_Under the Kilt_ from Highlander: The Official Site: **

David Abramowitz, Creative Consultant   
'I think the actors had fun playing this, especially the scene where one of the guest stars was a cow.' 

**Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production**   
'I liked this show, it's fun and silly. Daltrey is always wonderful.' 

**Ken Gord, Producer**   
'Roger Daltrey and Adrian... this is one of my favorites; it's a comedy that worked on all levels. I thought the stock footage that was introduced by Don gave the show huge layers. And shooting London in France was not so easy, because they don't look at all the same. But we found out one thing, take a red phone box and plunk it down and it's amazing how much a street will look like London.' 

~ Forgive Us Our Trespasses   
  
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